Dream a Little Dream
When I tuck my twin boys to bed each night we put dreamcatchers in place and ask not to have bad dreams to the universe or God or whomever you yourself think should hear your pleas.
I don’t normally think I should make those pleas for myself, but last night I probably should have.
It should come as no surprise that my late wife, Andrea, has been on my mind. This week marks four years . . . four years . . . since my wife passed away. It was sudden, it was unexpected, and we weren’t at all prepared at that point for what was coming.
Yet if you look at our lives today, as hard as this is to admit for all four of us, we are a lot better off. I wish that wasn’t the case, but things are actually pretty swell, to use an antiquated phrase.
But the memories are apparently pretty fresh, or at least fresh enough to make my dreams feel a little more bizarre. Maybe it’s because I have had a few dates that resulted in my children being miffed about my moving on with life. Maybe it’s just that the date is fast approaching. I’m not sure.
But my dreams last night were filled with images of Andrea. Some of them were pretty amazing, filled with love, laughter, and light.
Others re-lived her passing in varied, different ways. Still, every dream ended with that.
I didn’t sleep well, obviously. I woke up with that anxiety and heaviness weighing on my chest like it had just happened again.
I don’t often get affected by dreams that way and I don’t need a Freudian analysis to let me know why they happened. Still, it’s a hard date to approach and approach it we are.
Yet when I woke up in the morning my oldest daughter was home visiting, the other three excited for their sister and their upcoming birthday party and the world was the same as always. They saw the sun rise and the day begin and the school day necessitated their going to bed on time.
I say this because, where I lived that heavy feeling every day for a long while . . . it lifted once the dawning of the waking hours approached. It was an echo of a feeling not so long passed.
This week marks four years since she left . . . but it also marks four years of amazing, beautiful advancement. I certainly miss what we had, but I wouldn’t trade what we have today to get it back.